


triple mocha frap, don't hold the cream.

by Spooks (agonizer)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 03:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17758679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agonizer/pseuds/Spooks
Summary: “She’s not coming, bro,” the barista tells him, like maybe heenjoysrubbing that in, and slides into the seat across from him, unbidden. He rests his elbow on the table, crosses his arms in a way that draws ample attention to the way his uniform struggles to stretch over his biceps, and fixes Steve with a look, a slow grin spreading over his face.





	triple mocha frap, don't hold the cream.

“You have to order at the register.” 

Steve’s been sitting in this coffee shop for maybe twenty minutes now, staring out the window for the past ten, anxiously bouncing his leg under the table for the past five, and he only stops his two-thousand yard stare out the window to look up at the source of the annoyed voice. 

He finds a bored looking guy about his age in a dark-blue apron staring down at him, balancing a plastic container full of dirty cups against his hip, he’s got loose blond curls pulled back into a bun, his apron pulls tight over a broad chest, and if he weren’t just about sneering down at Steve, he might have even been attractive. 

He must have been staring dumbfoundedly, because the guy repeats, “Order. At the register. _Hablas ingles_ , buddy?” like maybe Steve is a little slow on the uptake, and gestures towards the counter, and Steve knots his eyebrows together like he’s a little insulted by it.

Which— he _is_.

“I _know_. I’m _waiting_ for someone,” he tells him, pointedly, but the guy just shrugs.

“You gotta order something, or I have to ask you to leave,” he insists, and Steve frowns, looks around the rest of the café—there are a few other mingling patrons, but the place is nowhere near half full, so it’s not like anyone’s anxiously waiting for his table to free up. 

“Look, she’s gonna be here in, like, probably fifteen minutes or so, so like. I’ll order something then.”

Barista guy rolls his eyes, but he grabs a dirty cup off the nearest table and walks away again without another word. 

It’s not like Steve _likes_ sitting around by himself, and _this_ is exactly why he always runs late, so it doesn’t happen to him. Rude? Maybe. Better than the anxiety of fidgeting with the straw cover someone else left on the table and staring out the window? _Definitely_. 

It buys him maybe fifteen minutes, and on his next round, the blond barista stops in front of him again. Chewing gum, popping it, loud, until Steve looks up at him, exhales annoyance out his nose. “What?”

“Just order something and I’ll be out of your hair,” he tells him, unimpressed, and Steve— Steve, who has barely twelve dollars to his name on a good day these days—doesn’t really want to do that. He wouldn’t have picked this place if it had been his idea, but he’s stuck here now regardless.

Apparently it is taking him too long to answer, because the barista gives him a once over. “Let me guess. You’re an iced coffee guy,” he muses, and Steve grimaces, ready to protest, “No? Fancy lattes, then, judging from the looks of it.”

Steve’s frown deepens, and he blinks slowly up at him. “Can you just, like. Let me live?”

Barista guy shrugs, communicates _suit yourself_ with every fiber of his being, and wanders off again.

Steve returns to staring into his phone. He kind of wishes he had brought a _book_ , because that’s something people do by themselves, have a coffee, read a book, don’t look like lonely stood up losers. 

It buys him another fifteen minutes of peace, before a frap slides into view on the table in front of him, heavy on the whipped cream, a dusting of cocoa on top, and Steve just stares at it for a second, before he slowly raises his eyes and looks up, follows the hand pushing the latte at him up to the impassive face of the same barista he’s already told, twice, that he’s waiting.

“She’s not coming, bro,” the barista tells him, like maybe he _enjoys_ rubbing that in, and slides into the seat across from him, unbidden. He rests his elbow on the table, crosses his arms in a way that draws ample attention to the way his uniform struggles to stretch over his biceps, and fixes Steve with a look, a slow grin spreading over his face. 

He’s definitely attractive, but– “But _I’m_ off in five minutes, so...”

Steve stares at him, incredulous. He finds he’s been doing a lot of that since he got here. “Are you asking me to ask _you_ out?”

The guy shrugs listlessly and turns his head, assessing the rest of the café as if to ask if Steve sees any better options, before he returns his attention to Steve, head cocked to the side. “Technically, I’m the one who’s just bought you a coffee and you haven’t even asked for my name yet, so you’re already a pretty shitty date.” He looks Steve over, and Steve doesn’t miss the way he drags the tip of his tongue over his teeth as he does, “ _Technically_ , I’m not _asking_ , either.”

Steve can feel the color rise to his cheeks, probably the tips of his ears, at the sheer audacity of this guy, but before he can say anything, barista guy rights himself and extends one hand across the table, slow, deliberate. “Billy, by the way.” 

It takes a deep breath and counting to ten in his head for Steve to calm down, the tips of his ears pink, and he glowers at the proffered hand for a second, before he finally takes it with something closer to resignation than he wants to admit. “ _Steve_ ,” he tells him, in a voice like it physically pains him, and gets rewarded by that grin on Billy’s face growing impossibly wider, baring all his sparkly whites, a cat that got the canary. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Steve.” Billy’s voice drops a little, and Steve can feel himself fluster more, even if he’s not sure if it’s because of the shark-like grin aimed at him, or because he _knows_ that guy already has a foot in the door, because yeah, maybe he’s a little _cheap_ , that way, but either way, Billy’s still grinning at him from across the table. “Who would even stand up a pretty face like yours?”

Steve runs his tongue over his lower lip, glances out the window–the reality is at the same time too sad to say out loud and just sad enough, he thinks, to get that guy to shut up, _so_ –

“My mom,” Steve says as his gaze flicks back to Billy, and the look on his face is almost worth the sad reality of it; he looks caught off guard, and it takes a split second before the guy puts his face together and manages a wry smile.

“Bitches are all the same,” he says, finally, with a very decisive nod, and it’s such a statement, Steve can’t help but bark out a laugh, because what kind of supreme _dickhead_ would say something like that? About someone’s _mother_? But it makes him laugh, and it makes him feel a little less sad about himself, somehow, that the weirdly pushy barista guy doesn’t seem judgmental about him being such a sorry sack of shit loser that not even his own mom will spend time with him.

“Lucky for you–” Billy takes a look at his watch, then pulls the apron from over his head and unties the knot at his back, tosses the thing over the chair next to him and leans back in his chair. “I’m off the clock now.” 

He drapes one arm over the back of the chair to his right, shifts a little in his seat, and it gives Steve a much better look at the way he’s barely buttoned his shirt up to his pecs, shows way too much skin, considering it’s fucking February, but it sure as shit works for the guy, and– Steve swallows hard, and when he drags his eyes up again he’s met with a rightfully cocky grin. 

Steve flushes a little more, picks up his frap so he has something to do with his hands, and finds that it’s … actually pretty spot on, for his taste. When he looks up, Billy must have noticed, because he waggles his eyebrows at him. 

“So, you treat all your customers this way, or was the tip jar just that empty today?” Steve manages, finally, one eyebrow arched up as he looks at Billy across the table, and Billy just smirks, shrugs. 

“No, I go exclusively for dejected brunettes,” he shoots back, matching his raised eyebrow, and Steve _should_ be insulted, he’s sure of it, but he somehow can’t manage it, finds himself laughing despite himself. 

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be tipping you, man,” Steve tells him, wryly amused, and Billy shrugs listlessly, a smirk only just playing on the corner of his lips as he levels him with a look, “That’s good, ‘cause I never settle for just the tip anyway.”

And it’s enough of a line to make Steve _groan_ , but it makes him laugh, too, making an attractive snorting sound in the midst of slurping from his frap. “That’s, like, sexual harassment at the workplace,” he tells him, still coughing, but Billy shakes his head. 

“It would only be sexual harassment if _you_ worked here, but if you’re asking if we have any _openings_ in need of filling…” Billy trails off, grin sharklike, bright, and Steve flusters, chokes on his frap. 

“Wow. I don’t know how you did it, but _that_ line was even worse than the last one,” Steve assures him, still laughing, coughing, and Billy looks pleased as punch with himself. “There’s so much more where that came from, so…”

“ _Billy!_ ” Someone shouts from the backroom, and Billy heaves an annoyed sigh, and when it’s followed by, “ _You haven’t finished up back here!_ ” he flashes Steve an apologetic smile. “Uh, looks like maybe my shift isn’t quite over yet, but—” He shrugs, but he winks as Steve before he grabs his apron, gets up to head toward the backroom, “Enjoy that frap on me, anyway. Even without my incredible company.” 

Steve opens his mouth to say something, closes it again. Maybe he should just take his frap and go, his pity drink for being stood up, but… Billy’s made him forget all about how shitty it felt, and he takes a deep breath before he speaks. “Hey, Billy?” 

Billy halts on his way to the counter and looks over his shoulder, eyebrow quirked. “I owe you a coffee,” Steve shouts over, and Billy blinks at him for a second, before a grin spreads over his face and he shouts back, “Yeah, you do. What’re you gonna do about it?”

It feels a little mad, a little silly, but Steve’s grin matches Billy’s nonetheless. “Next one’s on me,” he tells him, as he holds up a napkin with his number written on it. “Is breakfast included with that, pretty boy?” Billy calls back, and Steve rolls his eyes, even as he laughs, but someone shouts for Billy again, and he gives him something of an apologetic shrug as he turns to jog towards the backroom.

“Gotta call and find out,” Steve shouts nonetheless, ears red because the whole café must be listening to them, but he gets an answering laugh from somewhere behind the counter, and he finds he doesn’t care about that at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the @harringroveweekoflove on tumblr, head on over for more love <3


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